


Wanna Be Somebodies

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Boarding School AU, High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 20,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1378084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard move to a boarding school in hopes of escaping their past tormentors. However, some victims remain targets. Will they be able to function into a completely new environment, one without parents, bedtimes, and Jamia? Or will they be forced to again relocate? A sequel to Nobodies, which you do not have to read to understand this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The ride to the school is a total of six hours, six hours because it’s at the opposite end of the state below us. Frank and I don’t mind the ride; we mainly draw and watch movies, and of course, talk to each other. My parents know we’re dating now, and as for Frank’s parents, without their only son, they’ve left our old hometown and given up on ever regaining him.

                Frank and I aren’t in the same dorm, roommate preferences were existent, but we didn’t apply in time to fill that part out. There was also an open house, which we didn’t attend, on account of it being six hours away. We do know who our roommates are, but we just haven’t met them. Frank’s roommate’s name is Coulter Richard. Frank is overwhelmed with joy at the fact that the kid has two first names, three if he has a middle one. My roommate had some obscure name that I didn’t care to remember. Hopefully he introduces himself properly and doesn’t assume I know his name. Especially if he already knows mine.

                We arrive at 4:00, and my legs feel as though they are completely paralyzed. Frank springs up as if it was nothing, and pulls me to my feet and out of the car, which turns me into a stumbling mess. He turns to the trunk, opening it and tossing out our bags carelessly.

                “Hey! Be careful!” I warn.

                “It’s fine,” Frank insists. He lobs out a bag with some dishware in it, and the shattering of the plates fails to startle him. He continues until all of the bags are out of the car, and instead, on the street. My mother, who drove us, helps us gather everything (4 bags of clothes, 1 of dishware, 2 of possessions), and walks both of us to our dorms. Frank and I split the contents of the dishware bag, Frank taking half into his room, which is on the floor below mine. I continue to climb with a groan, reaching my destination. I timidly open the door, and my mom kisses me goodbye, reminding,

                “I’ll be calling tomorrow at four.”

                I nod, and enter this strange new place.

                Despite the fact that my roommate has already been there, seemingly for a while, his bags remain packed, the walls plain, and the bed unmade, bare with mattresses and metal frames only.

                The boy has vivid green eyes, the kind of green that one would expect to be produced only by contacts. He has brown hair that hangs all over his face, into his eyes, down his neck, past his ears. I feel like I would’ve related to him better if I still had my long hair. But sadly, it’s currently cut up above my ears.

                The boy regards me with a look of general interest, and asks, “What’s your name?”

                I laugh, because I’m not the only one to forget my roommate’s name. “I’m Gerard. You are?”

                He stands, brushing off the front of his jeans. “August.” He holds his hand out.

                It takes me a moment to realize that he’s going for a handshake, since practically no one from my generation does this. I shake his hand, resting my arms at my side. “Aren’t unpacking?”

                August shrugs. “No. I’ll live out of my bags until they’re all empty.”

                I chuckle, and question, “But you’re not even going to put your bedding on?”

                August looks at the bare mattress, and replies, “Maybe later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in two weeks. I dunno.”

                I shake my head, and can’t help but wonder how Frank’s doing with his roommate. I set my bags down on my bed, unzipping them all but not removing any of the contents. I dismiss August with, “I’m going to my boyfriend’s dorm.”

                I realize what I had said, upon first meeting a person. A twinge of regret hits my stomach, and I glance over at August to see if he’d noticed. He did, but he doesn’t seem angry or grossed out or even surprised. He just grins and asks,

                “Can I come?”

                “Sure,” I answer, waiting for him to stand and follow me out the door.

                We go down the stairs to Frank’s dorm, which already has the name “Coulter” scrawled across the marker board on the door. Frank has yet to add his, and I failed to check if August had written his name up yet, but I know that I hadn’t.

                I knock first, and it is answered by Frank, who looks worn down. “Gerard! And… who is this?”

                “I’m called August,” August informs. He shakes Frank’s hand, and adds politely, “May we come in?”

                “Yeah,” Frank replies breathlessly, stepping back to allow us entry.

                “Why are you tired?” I ask Frank.

                “Tired? Oh. Yeah, Coulter’s not here now, but he’s quite the handful.” Frank groans as he lays himself on his bed, which is already made with his dorky Batman sheets and regular blue duvet.

                “What do you mean?” August wonders. He thinks for a moment, before saying, “Coulter Adams?”

                “Yeah, I think that’s him,” Frank responds.

                “Oh, yeah, he has Asperger’s and ADHD,” August tells. “He can be a bit too much at first.”

                “A bit? Try a lot,” Frank groans. He sighs, continuing, “Well, I guess I’ll grow used to him.”

                I lay down next to Frank, asking, “So, do you want to go get something to eat? After all, it is an appropriate time for a snack.”

                “Sure,” Frank agrees, doing a sit up to stand. He nudges August. “You coming, Auggie?”

                August nods, tagging along behind Frank. “Yep.”

                I follow August out, wondering if we’ll meet any kids in the lounge and how nice they’ll be. Hopefully Frank can meet some wrestling kids, since they have an off season program here that starts tomorrow. He really gets nervous at new things if he doesn’t know anybody, and I don’t want him to be anxious during his favorite sport.

                We sit down at a table towards the back corner, which probably isn’t the best if you’re looking to meet people. Regardless, within ten minutes, there’s a pack of four boys coming over, and my heartbeat accelerates as I dissect their intentions.

                


	2. Chapter 2

                Frank’s P.O.V.

                “Are either of you two one of our new wrestlers?” asks the ginger, who is the assumed leader of the pack, as is obvious by his ripped physique and faint stubble.

                I raise my hand, telling, “That would be me.”

                “No way,” a boy with glasses scoffs.

                “Yeah right,” another agrees.

                “Why?” I demand, starting to get irritated. I’ve been wrestling since I was eight; why do these jerks find me inadequate?

                “You’re downright puny for a freshman!” the fourth one cackles, prompting the others to join in. All but the ginger laugh along like hyenas.

                “I’m actually a junior,” I grumble, making the boys laugh even harder.

                “I didn’t know that a weight class existed for someone your size,” another guffaws.

                “Hey, who knows, maybe we’ll root for you sometime,” the ginger comforts, seemingly trying to make amends. He gives me a pleading look, which I’m about to be grateful for when one of his idiot friends interrupts,

                “Yeah, it’s nice to cheer for the underdog!” He makes a lewd gesture at me before leaving, and the rest of his friends follow, the ginger reluctantly so.

                “Wow, what a great start,” Gerard mutters.

                “Hey, we have some jerks, inevitably. Our school really isn’t that bad. They were just teasing.” August’s words trip over each other as he spits out excuse after excuse to defend his school.

                “Bullshit,” I growl, picking at my food. I’m too upset to eat now. I push my food away, and Gerard gives a worried glance, which I decide not to acknowledge because, again, I’m pissed.

                Coulter spots us, and like the awkward flower that he is, gallops over with his legs that are physically healthy but still move as if they’ve never quite understood the concept of gravity. He sits down, nearly falling as he drops so quickly to his chair. “Hey, guys!”

                “Coulter,” I mock cheer.

                Gerard shoots me a disapproving look, which becomes even sterner when Coulter says blatantly,

                “I know you don’t like me, Frank. But you’re going to have to deal with me because you’re my roommate and neither you nor I are willing to go through the process of switching.”

                I remain quiet because, hey, the kid’s right, but Gerard nudges me and motions towards Coulter.

                I roll my eyes and apologize, “Coulter, I’m sorry. I like you, I do.” I continue to toy with my food, admitting, “I’m just mad at someone else.”

                “Who?” Coulter questions. “Do I know them?”

                I ignore him, so August answers for me. “Matt Ellis and his goons.”

                “Ohh….” Coulter trails off. He suggests, “Frank, I really wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. At some point or another, they attack everyone who is not at their elitist social standard.”

                “So they’ll attack me?” Gerard asks.

                “Well, by the looks of it, yes. You’re wearing a Star Wars shirt, your backpack has a Lilo and Stitch pin on it, and I can see that you are an experienced Dungeon Master,” Coulter answers.

                “How did you know about the last part?” Gerard wonders.

                “The advanced handbook in front of you was somewhat of an indicator,” Coulter replies.

                Great. My roommate says the word “indicator” in casual conversation. I lay my head on the table, not caring that I sound whiny as I complain, “I want to go home.”

                “Frank! We just got here!” Gerard scolds. “Besides, don’t pretend it’s all bad. Jesus, some douchebags give you their shitty opinions and you already want to leave.”

                “Can’t I just dramatically bellyache without getting chided?” I retort.

                “You can’t. Grow a pair,” Gerard barks.

                I pout at Gerard, but he ignores me, looking the other way. “I’m going to bed,” I grumble, standing.

                “Frank… come on!” Gerard calls. He catches up to me, and wraps his arms around me, kissing my cheek in an attempt to cheer me up. “I’m sorry. Just cranky from the long drive, like you.”

                “Well just what should we do about that?”

                Gerard shoves me against the wall, pinning my wrists above  my head. “I’m going to wipe that smile off your face.” He kisses me, pressing his lips violently against mine. His tongue swarms my mouth, and I grant him complete control. He takes my hand, pulling me into a bathroom.

                Luckily for us, it locks from the inside. Gerard waits for the lock to click into place before he stops twisting it. He kicks off his shoes, and pulls off his socks. I tear off my clothes as Gerard steps out of his pants and removes his shirt.

                I stay in my black briefs, whilst Gerard is completely nude. He strides over, yanking down my underwear with one hand and spinning me around to the other. My hips are pressed into the sink as Gerard pumps some liquid soap into his hand and runs it along his cock.

                “You’re using soap as lube?” I scoff.

                “Got any better ideas?” Gerard asks. He holds onto the sides of my hips, and slowly presses into me, slipping out and then back in. He reaches a single hand around to grab my dick and stroke the head, which gets my thighs quaking.

                Gerard purrs in my ear as he exits and enters, and suddenly, he, grips my shoulder as he comes. He pants as he continues to jerk me off, desperate to get an orgasm out of me as well. I come after he licks the length of my spine and rubs the head of my cock at the same time.

                Gerard pulls out, walking on weak knees. He puts on my underwear by mistake, so I tell him,

                “That’s my pair.”

                Gerard looks down at himself and smirks. “Well, I guess we’ll just wear each other’s.”

                I smile and swipe Gerard’s navy boxer briefs off the ground, sliding into them. I wear my own pants and shirt and shoes, since all of these would be too short and too small for Gerard. Gerard unlocks the door, peeks out into the hallway, and takes my hand, whispering, “No one’s out there.”

                We walk back to our own dorms, Gerard dropping me off at mine. He kisses my cheek and pets my hair, wishing,

                “Have a good day tomorrow, princess.”

                “Princess?” I reiterate.

                Gerard nods, retorting, “What, do you want to be a queen?”

                I giggle and shake my head, standing on my tippy toes to kiss Gerard. “Bye, babe.”

                I head inside, and Gerard replies, “See you,” before venturing off to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! Check out my other story, The Sleepless Nights of Skinny Love, here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1388947
> 
> My tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

                I sit through my classes the next day, which couldn’t possibly go along any slower. I stare at the fake wood of my desktop, all too conscious of the ticking of the clock which seems to match my heartbeat. I start to get nervous around lunchtime, since the end of school is nearing. That means that wrestling is getting closer. I really do hope that they’ll be nice.

                I enter the lunch room, to realize that not a single person I know here eats first wave lunch. Gerard is in vocal, so he eats second wave, and I don’t know about August and Coulter, but they must have vocal or class or something. I’m pissed that I’m so unfortunate as I sit by myself at a table in the far back corner.

                That kid, the ginger from the other day spots me. He walks over, greeting,

                “Hey. You’re Frank, right?”

                “Yeah,” I answer cautiously. I then realize that he was the one to sit quietly as his poor choices of friends insulted me, so I let my guard down.

                “I’m Matt. I’m sorry about earlier. Do you want me to sit by you?” he offers.

                I glance around, to see a lot of other kids staring at us, trying to get an idea of what’s going on. Why would Matt Ellis waste his time on a new student, seemingly a freshman?  “Um, I don’t think anyone else will, so I guess.”

                Matt takes a seat, and asks, “So, how are you?”               

                I just now notice that he already has his food, which means that he’s a senior. I keep an eye out for the juniors to line up as I answer, “I’m good. How are you?”

                “Great,” Matt answers. “First day of school’s great, right?”

                “Maybe if you’re a senior,” I mutter.

                Matt’s face falls, but he still tries to keep the conversation moving. “Do you have a girlfriend or anything?”

                “I have a boyfriend,” I answer out of pure instinct. “His name’s Gerard.”

                Matt recoils, and he says, “Don’t tell me that’s the freaky vampire kid.”

                “That would be him,” I admit.

                Matt makes a disgusted face, and continues, “You know, you’re kind of good looking. And that’s a straight guy saying this, so to girls, you must be _really_ good looking. Why do you settle for boys, and even worse, creepy boys?”

                “Gerard is not creepy,” I retort defensively.

                “The kid wears Iron Maiden shirts and walks in the halls with his head down and headphones in,” Matt insists.

                “And? That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe if you actually got to know him, you wouldn’t find him so weird. He’s actually a sweetheart. But no, you’re just being a judgmental jerk,” I rant.

                “I’m just saying that you’ve got a lot of options here, kid, and don’t waste them on a dude, especially when he’s a giant spaz,” Matt hisses. “You can do so much better, so snap out of your gay phase, be a man, and ask a girl out.” He looks around, adding, “You have no idea how bad some guys here want a girlfriend. You’ve got this opportunity that you’re throwing away, which is selfish.”

                “You want me to be a man?” I demand. “Like you? If that means putting kids down and being xenophobic then I don’t want to.”

                Matt stands, snarling, “Fuck you, Iero. You’re just a faggot, you know that?” He gathers his things and takes off in a huff. By now, the freshman have lined up. I rise, meekly hurrying over to the lunch line.

                Matt turns out to be the captain of the wrestling teams. He picks who fights who in the warm ups, as long as the two are no more than two weight classes apart. Of course, he puts me, in the 126 pound weight class, with the meanest, strongest kid in the 138 pound class. He brings me to the mat in a matter of moments. Most of the boys laugh, and others just look like they pity me. I feel my face flush with embarrassment. I’m not used to losing, and here I am, at a practice, losing to some kid without a fight.

                “Jesus, work on your stance, Iero,” Matt admonishes, rousing more laughter from the rest of the wrestlers.

                I disappear into the back of the hoard of boys, silently waiting as the next two are picked.

                I get pinned again in front of everyone, in less than 20 seconds. The coach makes me run as punishment, which I despise. I return, only to again lose, and run another three laps.

                I’m the last one to leave the gym at the end of practice, sulking with my heels scraping against the ground. I take off my headgear and throw it at my bag upon entering the locker room, almost in tears from such a shitty practice.

                Matt spots me, and he grins maliciously and mentions to everyone, “Hey, Iero has a boyfriend.”

                Most of them chuckle, and Matt shoves past me as he moves to the shower. “So do you suck his dick?”

                I turn red, and start to strip, taking off my shirt.

                “Hey, Iero, you fucking him?” someone asks. “Top or bottom?”

                I pull off my pants, and someone points out the scratches on my hips left from Gerard. “Your boyfriend do that to you?”

                “Gross, he’s bottom!” another guffaws, causing the others to laugh. I wrap a towel around my waist and head towards the showers, only to be shoved out of the area.

                “We won’t let a fag shower with us,” one of them states, as if this was a common law.

                “Hey!” someone yells. He’s a boy with dark hair with a bluish tint, and grey eyes. “Stop it with the homophobic shit! He’s not attracted to any of you assholes, are you, Frank?”

                I shake my head quickly, and step into the shower. Still, everyone inches away from me.

                I find the kid who had stood up for me and thank him. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how bad I wanted someone to say that.”

                “No problem,” he replies. “I promise our school isn’t that bad. The jocks…. They’re another story, but generally, we’re a fine breed,” he assures.

                “What’s your name?” I ask.

                “Luke,” he answers. “And I got that you’re Frank.”

                “Affirmative.”

                “Do you want to go back to my dorm with me?” Luke offers. “I know it’s almost supper, but-”

                “Sure!” I cut in. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please check out my Frerard story The Sleepless Nights of Skinny Love here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1388947 I'll try to update soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank’s P.O.V.

            Instead of hanging out at Luke’s as was intended, he gives me a quick tour of his dorm. His roommate, incidentally, is gay as well. His name is West, and he has shaggy thin blond hair that curls on the ends. He’s shy, but despite this, he approaches me, asking,

            “Hey, I now we don’t really know each other all that well, but….” He takes a deep breath and proceeds, “Would you maybe want to go out with me sometime?”

            “I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend,” I reply. I feel bad for letting him down, but he doesn’t seem at all upset by this. Instead of getting angry or moping like a lot of people would, he actually asks me about my significant other.

            “Who is he?”

            “Gerard Way,” I answer.

            “Is he that weird vampire kid?” West questions.

            “Yep,” I answer, more than used to this assumption by now.

            “Aw, good for you!” West exclaims. “He’s a cutie.”

            “I think so too!” I agree. “No one else seems to believe me. They also think he’s a freak.”

            “I think he seems sweet,” West tells.

            “Thank you!” I exclaim.

            Luke smiles from the corner where he stands. “If you two keep fangirling, we’ll never make it to supper on time.”

            My cheeks flame pink, but West just laughs. WE all go to supper together, and I scan the room in search of Gerard. I spot him sitting with August and Coulter, and decide to bite the bullet with sitting next to Coulter with the fact that Gerard will be three.

            I nudge Luke, encouraging, “Come on, let’s go sit by him!”

                “Oh, is the one with the black hair Gerard?” Luke asks.

            I nod. “Yep, that’s him.”

            Luke begins to start over, so West and I trail behind.

            As soon as we approach the table, Luke sticks his hand out, greeting Gerard. “Hello, I’m Luke.”

            “Gerard,” Gerard replies, easily taking his hand and giving it a shake. He stands, extending his hand to West as well, who accepts it. He refuses to let go, so I have to nudge him and whisper, “Westie!” for him to let go.

            We all sit down, and Gerard gets into a thrilling debate with Luke over abortion. Gerard brings up Roe v. Wade, so I can tell that my boyfriend is much more into feminism than I would’ve ever suspected. Luke is pro-life, and Gerard pro-choice. You can imagine how these two oxymoron views clash.

            Meanwhile, West stares at Gerard dreamily, playing with his own hair absently. I turn to look at August, who’s already finished eating because the kid’s an animal. I ask him,

            “August, where do you stand?”

            “Pro-choice,” August answers. “But I don’t like to argue.”

            “Well, they’re not _arguing_ ,” I reason. “They’re just debating. But like, in a friendly way. You know, there’s no harm in it.”

            “I hate conflict,” August whines. “I refuse to succumb to it.”

                I roll my eyes, and walk over, sitting on Gerard’s lap. I kiss his cheek, and wrap my arms around his tiny frame.

            “Whoa, PDA!” Luke chuckles, completely dropping the abortion topic.

            Gerard and I giggle, and I kiss him once more to prove to Luke that he, nor the school’s policy of public displays of affection, can dictate me.

            That night, I make the mistake of entering the bathroom on my floor. I’m only in there for about ten seconds, and I’ve hardly flushed the urinal when the doors bang open. I turn over my shoulder, to see no one but that Matt Ellis kids and a couple of his friends.

            My heart skips a beat, and my hands fumble to zip up my pants because no way am I facing these guys with even the slightest possibility of my cock falling out.

            “Oh, look who stumbled into the men’s room on mistake!” Matt guffaws. He walks over, placing an arm on my shoulder and backing me into the wall. “What the fuck are you doing in here, faggot?”

            “I’m just going to the bathroom,” I answer, trying to cooperate as much as one can in this situation. I really just want to go to bed; it’s lights out in about five minutes.

            “Well, that was a mistake, now wasn’t it?” one of his friends cuts in.

            Matt laughs along with the rest of the idiots. Their laughing holds an eerie resemblance to the cawing of crows. “We’re going to have to punish you one way or another, Iero. Any suggestions?”

            A lump forms in my throat, one that I can’t swallow.

            “How about we take his clothes?” a boy calls out.

            “Or we just hit him a few times, just a couple of good shots,” another offers.

            “How about….” Matt growls. “We do both?”

            I try to run, but Matt catches me around my middle and slams me to the floor. He’s at least four weight classes above me, so I’m absolutely no match. He pins me easily, and his friends all begin kicking me.

            Matt spits on me, and my vision quickly goes blurry. I feel my heart rate go quicker and quicker, and all I can see and feel is the pack of boys on me, attacking me. The next thing I know, I’m crying and hyperventilating.

            “Watch the pussy cry!” someone laughs. “Oh my God, he’s bawling!”       

            I roll into a fetal position, and Matt gives me a sharp kick to the ribs, cursing, “Fucking freak! Look at him; he’s panting like a dog!”

            They all leave me, crying and gulping for air on the hard, cool floor of the bathroom. I slowly get up after God knows how long, and the short walk to my dorm feels like hell.

            When I arrive, Coulter can immediately sense that something’s not right. “Frank, are you okay/”

            I nod, tears falling down my face.

            Coulter furrows his brows, and says, “I know you’re not alright, but I also know you don’t want to talk about it. You are mature and I respect your opinions, so wake me up if you change your mind and want to talk about it.”

            “Thanks,” I choke out, my voice quaking. I roll over and go to sleep, tossing and turning throughout the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon. 
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

            At breakfast that morning, Gerard can immediately tell that something’s off with me. He’s about to say something, but then his eyes flash to August, Coulter, and West, who are tied up in a discussion about the death penalty. He grabs my arm, dismissing the table with,

            “Excuse us; boyfriend meeting.”

            He drags me to a bathroom, and bangs on each stall door, shouting, “HELLO!?!”

            He adjusts the hem of his shirt, announcing, “No one’s in here. Now tell me what’s wrong, Frankie.”

            It’s no use lying to him, so I speak the truth. I tell him everything, and he chews on his lip and fidgets with his hands. Once I’m finished, he asks,

            “Well, what did you ever do to him?”

            I shrug. “He was being a jerk about me being gay; saying I was selfish for not liking girls. So, I defended you, pissed him off, and been on his bad side ever since. I’m pretty sure he’s a closet homophobe.”

            Gerard grimaces. “Yep. Those are the worst kind.”

            I slump to the floor, tears leaking from my eyes. “What am I supposed to do? It’s going to be exactly the same…”

            Gerard crouches next to me, suggesting, “You can report it.”

            I shake my head. “Matt Ellis’s dad is the principal; Matt and his friends wouldn’t get expelled or suspended or maybe even given a detention for bullying.”

            “It’s worth a shot,” Gerard reasons.

            I nod, and Gerard helps me stand, holding out his hands. I take them, and he pulls me to my feet, putting an arm on my upper back and rubbing it as we walk down the halls to the principal’s office.

            We wait in the office for about three minutes, during which Gerard offers,

            “Do you want me to do the talking?”

            “Please,” I reply, more tears dripping off my jaw.

            Gerard holds my hand, which he drops as soon as the principal comes in. Coulter updated me on the school’s strict restrictions on PDA.

            “Mr. Way, and Mr. Iero. Nice to see our two newest students. How are you boys adjusting?”

            I look at Gerard helplessly, so he answers for both of us. “Overall, well, but I do have one concern.”

            Mr. Ellis takes his seat, removing his sports jacket and laying it over the back of his chair. “And what would that be?”

            “Your son, Matthew, and some of his friends have bullied Frank,” Gerard accuses. “And I’m very upset.”

            “What exactly have they done? And did it happen more than once?” Mr. Ellis interrogates calmly, almost dancing over the fact that they are indeed bullies.

            “They cornered him in a bathroom, said a good amount of words that can put them in quite compromising positions, and beat him by tackling him to the floor, and then proceeding to repeatedly kick him,” Gerard answers confidently. “Your son also spat on him.”

            “What did they say?” Mr. Ellis presses, folding his hands on top of his desk.

            “They called him, a gay student, a faggot. They also proceeded to mock him, despite his numerous attempts to resolve the conflict,” Gerard retorts.

            Mr. Ellis writes all of this down, and then emphasizes, “But this was only one occurrence?”

            Gerard’s self-assurance wavers, and he stammers, “W-well there’s only one that-that _I_ know about.”

            “Then I’ll be seeing you boys. I’ll talk to Matthew and his friends,” Mr. Ellis finishes.

            Gerard stands, prepared to leave.

            “Wait!” I say urgently.

            Gerard slowly sinks back into his chair, and Mr. Ellis lets out a sigh. “Yes?”

            “There was, um, and incident in which Matt had announced to the locker room that I was gay… and most of the boys proceeded to laugh, even not allowing me to shower with them. One person stood up for me, and that was it,” I confide.

            He writes this down as well, and mentions, “You boys will be seeing me 9th hour during guided study so we can discuss this in a bit more detail, alright?”

            Gerard and I both nod, and then leave.

            “Thank you for talking to me,” Mr. Ellis thanks.

            “That’s a load of bullshit,” Gerard grumbles.

            “Never done that before,” I admit.   

            “I’ve done it plenty of times, and nothing was ever done,” Gerard confesses. I give him a scared look, so he hastily continues, “But that was at a public school, so this will probably be different.”

            “I sure hope so,” I mutter.

            We return to breakfast, and West asks,

            “Where were you guys? You were gone for like ten minutes.”

            “Frank had to grab something from his room,” Gerard lies smoothly. “We ended up getting caught up with Frank’s movie collection; time just flew.”

            “Or, you were reporting to the principal whatever situation happened last night,” Coulter interrupts.

            I make a ‘shut your fat mouth or I’ll kill you’ face to Coulter, who doesn’t see it.

            “What do you mean ‘whatever happened last night?’” August wonders.

            “Frank came into my room after lights out crying,” Coulter claims. “I was pretty sure that Matt Ellis was a factor, but I could tell that Frank wasn’t in the mood to talk about it; nor did he want me to know.” Coulter looks over in my direction to see my flushed face buried in my hands. “And I now realize that this is private information that I should not have the discretion to share.”

            West punches Coulter in the arm, and then slides over to me. “It’s okay. Was it Matt?”

            I nod. “Yeah. We just told Mr. Ellis.”

            “Did he do anything?” August asks.

            Gerard shrugs, massaging my shoulders. “We don’t know. He’s going to see us again during guided study.”

            “Good luck to you,” Coulter wishes. “Frank, I hope you get that bastard expelled.”

            I’m about to yell at Coulter about how a real friend would be more concerned over my interest than the expulsion of the enemy, but then I realize that in his world, this is a compliment, and a fine one at that. So I respond instead with, “Thank you.”

            The bell rings, and we all scatter off to our own classes. All day, my stomach is in knots about what exactly we’ll be talking about ninth hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vote for me here: http://poll.pollcode.com/45312998 for me to write a fanfiction for you or give you two of my rewards for Tumblr users!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon.


	6. Chapter 6

            Gerard and I enter the office ninth hour, and even though I repeatedly tell myself that everything will be fine, I can’t keep my stomach from tightening.

            I sit in the chair, peeling off the chipping pleather, too preoccupied with my own worries to pay attention to whatever class Gerard is talking about. Why is he talking? Did I ask him a question?

            “So, I guess, yeah,” Gerard concludes.

            “Oh,” I reply. I must’ve asked him something.

            I see Mr. Ellis enter, his son Matt and friends in tow. I grip the arms to the chair until my knuckles fade to white. I want to run, I want to shove my way through all of them and bolt to my dorm. But I stay rooted to my seat like some sort of plant that won’t ever be plucked, and I my heels bounce with solid anxiety as the boys sit down in the chairs to the left of Gerard. Gerard himself is twiddling his thumbs, but of course Matt Ellis and his idiots have nothing to worry about. It’s a kangaroo court, with Matt Ellis as the judge, the lawyer, and the jury. He has control over everything. There’s no way out of this; no way to win. There’s no way to escape him.

            “Mr. Iero, would you like to repeat what you and Gerard told me this morning?” Mr. Ellis asks. “So the boys know what they’re being charged with.”

            “Umm….” I mumble. I don’t have to look over to see Matt’s eyes prickling into me, burrowing inside to see what they can find. “It was in the locker room a few days ago… Matt found it necessary to announce to the entire room that I was gay. They proceeded to tease me about it, making a lot of derogatory and sexual comments. It was a day or so after that at night, like five minutes before lights out, that they not only purposely misgendered me, but also beat me and tackled me.”

            Mr. Ellis nonchalantly folds his hands on his desk, turning to face the culprits. “Anything to say to defend yourself?”

            Matt leans forward, giving puppy eyes. “In the locker room, we were just kidding. We really didn’t think it’d hurt his feelings, really!” He pauses, furrows his brows. “As for the whole bathroom incident, I just can’t recall that ever happening.”

            “Me neither,” one of his friends chimes in.

            Mr. Ellis now faces me. “Mr. Iero, can you explain why none of these boys seem to remember this occurrence?”

            “B-because they’re lying!” I insist.

            “Do you have any proof?” Mr. Elllis interrogates. “Any witnesses or something of the sort?”

            “Well….” I hesitate. I pull my shirt up and stand, pointing at one of the bruises on my ribcage. “This… is from your son, where he kicked me.”

            “And how exactly can you prove this to be true?” Mr. Ellis demands.

            “I…. I can’t,” I admit. I drop my shirt and sink back into my seat. “But he caused it, so who’s word are you going to take?”

            Mr. Ellis shrugs smugly, a broad grin spread across his face. “Well, I can take the word of two new students, the main one with not only poor grades but also a mountain of a discipline file, _or,_ I can believe four boys, all with a spotless GPA and record of discipline.”

            “You seriously can’t base it off of that!” Gerard scoffs. “Just because he’s not the model student you’re not going to do anything about him being bullied?”

            “Mr. Way, the fact is, I have no proof. No proof means no punishment. How do I know that you two aren’t setting these boys up? I’m just doing my best to be fair to everyone. I’m sure an intelligent young man like yourself understands,” Mr. Ellis rants.

            Gerard stands, grabbing me by the shoulder and yanking me to my feet as well. “Oh, I fucking get it, crystal clear. You won’t help a student because he doesn’t film his own torture. That’s absolute bullshit. Ask anyone on the wrestling team; Frank’s being bullied.”

            “Watch your mouth!” Mr. Ellis barks. “And I see no use in investigating a closed case. I will be seeing you in detention, Mr. Way. Library at 4:00.”

            I open my mouth to protest, but Mr. Ellis interrupts,

            “Would you like to join him, Mr. Iero?”

            “No,” I scowl.

            Mr. Ellis smiles. “Marvelous. You boys are all free to go.”

            Matt and his friends hurry along to catch up with us, and Matt declares loud enough for his father to hear him,

            “I’m really sorry you have a problem with us, Frank. Maybe we could hang out sometime?”

            “Get away from me!” I hiss. I shove past him, but he steps in front of me, grabbing my wrist. He squeezes so hard that it hurts, growling,

            “Listen here you little faggot. If you squeal one more time like the bitch you are, I will break every bone in your fucking body.”

            “You don’t fucking talk to him like that, you shit!” Gerard retorts quietly. “Grow the fuck up.”

            Gerard grabs my shoulder and begins to pull me along, but two of Matt’s friends pull me apart from him, and then Matt and the remaining friend restrain me, slapping a hand harshly over my mouth.

            They drag us into the bathroom, where they lock the door upon entering. One boy blocks it, making sure that Gerard or I can’t escape. Matt throws me to the floor roughly, kicking me in the hip.

            Gerard’s arms are held behind his back, and Matt walks over, ordering to the friend at the door,

            “You! Make sure Iero doesn’t get away.”

            He nods, and glares at me. I decide to stay on the floor, which is the safest spot. That’s not saying much though; it’s the equivalent of saying that fire is the least lethal method of suicide.

            Matt grabs a fistful of Gerard’s hair, and brings his head forward and back crudely by the chunk. Gerard bites his lip, not wanting to give Matt any satisfaction. Matt digs into his back pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes. “You smoke, Way?”

            Gerard doesn’t answer, just stares at the floor. Matt pulls out one of the cigarettes, not placing it between his lips, but lighting it anyways. I jolt up from my spot on the floor, realizing what he’s about to do.

            I’m tackled as Matt rolls up Gerard’s shirt sleeve and presses the burning end to his bare forearm.

            Gerard cries out, and jumps around uselessly, as the other two boys hold him tightly, planting him to the floor. “Fuck!” His knees buckle in towards each other, and he hangs his head as he yells, frustrated and in pain.

            I try all I can to spring to my feet; but it’s hopeless as the much heavier and stronger boy pins me to the floor. Matt finally stops, and warns,

            “That’s what you get, you fucking freak. As for Iero….”

            Matt pulls a Sharpie from his back pocket, and removes the cap with a pop. He squats down next to me, and I squirm for all I’m worth, all though I know I’m doomed. I can’t tell what he writes on my forehead, but I can only assume it’s the word ‘fag’. When they all leave us behind, I go directly to the mirror to, squinting to read the word on my face.

            It’s just a crude drawing of a penis. I scrub at it furiously, and Gerard hangs by me sadly, rubbing my shoulders. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

            Gerard’s P.O.V.

            I go to detention, not really sure what to expect. I’ve never been in trouble before; that was more of Frank’s thing. However, nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw when I entered the library at 4:00 p.m.

            I sit down, rushing to the most isolated chair without making much eye contact. It isn’t until I’m seated and comfortable that I notice I’ve parked myself directly in front of Matt Ellis and his friends.

            I break out in a cold sweat. Matt leans forwards and whispers in my ear,

            “After this, you’re fucking dead. Don’t even think about moving.”

            He sits back in his chair; I can tell by the groan of the wood. I busy myself with doodling, and I’m about ten minutes into the hour detention when something pricks the back of my neck.

            I slowly bring my hand to the afflicted area, to feel a soggy piece of paper stuck to my skin. With disgust, I peel it off, flinging it to the floor. I again try to distract myself by drawing, but another spitball hits me, and then another. I give up on trying to pluck them all off; and I’m sure that there’s at least five stuck to me by the end.

            The bell rings, and I stay in my seat, all too aware of my impending doom. Matt stands next to me, growling under his breath,

            “Stand up. Come with us.”

            “What happens if I don’t?” I challenge quietly, not wanting the teacher to overhear.

            Matt grips the back of my shirt and pulls me up slightly, making me cough. “We’ll fucking stab that little boyfriend of yours.”

            I rise, following the boys without hesitation. Every few seconds Matt will glance back to make sure I’m still there, and grin eerily every time it’s confirmed that I am in fact being led to my death.

            I’m pulled into a locker room, which is a nice change of scenery from the bathroom. The door is locked, and I’m immediately tackled. Two boys pin me down, while the third and Matt both loom over me.

            My arms and legs are both constrained to the point that I can’t move at all, but this doesn’t stop me from trying to struggle.

            Matt gets on his knees, runs a hand down my leg slowly. I shiver, and try to peer back to see exactly what he’s up to.

            I hear a zip, followed by some rustling. It isn’t until Matt slips his hand underneath the front of my pants and blindly gropes around that I begin to panic.

            I try to break free, but it’s no use. Matt manages to undo my pants, and he gradually tugs them down to my ankles. I burn bright red and try to tense myself up as much as possible, making it difficult for him to do much else.

            But yet, he brings my boxers down as well, leaving them around my knees. I squirm some, and finally, I feel Matt ram in.

            I close my eyes and let the tears fall down my face. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, and not only am I in physical, but also the most agonizing emotional pain I’ve ever experienced. I begin to hum to myself to try to block out what’s going on, and I’m able to completely tune everything out, that is, until I feel him come inside me.

            Finally, he pulls out, leaving my bottoms down and my backside exposed. He touches my inner thigh, and a particularly loud sob and whimper breaks out from between my lips.

            “If you tell anyone,” Matt purrs, rubbing a hand through my hair, “Then I’m going to have to kill you. Not only you, but also Frank. Remember that, okay? This will be our little secret.”

            I nod, and cry harder as I’m released.

            “Let’s go,” Matt tells his friends, and the four stalk out into the hallway.

            I lay there on the cold ground, weeping. My chest aches with a mental pain so great it’s broken the barrier to physical hurt, and my vision is blurred to the point I can no longer see the pattern of the linoleum floor just inches below my eyes.

            I’m on fire, every single part of me. I reach down to feel a small amount of blood trickling from where I’d been raped to the inside of my thigh. I make an attempt at standing, but I’m too sore all over to move.

            Donny Waters came into the locker room minutes later to grab his water bottle, which he’d left in his locker. But instead he found me, sobbing, pants down, bleeding, a mess, a shell, some sort of toy that’d expired its warranty. He kneels next to me, asking,

            “Hey, hey, Gerard? Gerard, what happened?”

            “I can’t tell,” I choke out.

            “You can tell me; it’s okay,” Donny assures.

            I shake my head. “No, you don’t understand. If I tell then he’ll… he’ll kill me. And Frank. So just please, don’t tell anyone this happened.”

            “I’m filing a report,” Donny decides.

            I bolt up to my knees, begging, “Please don’t! You can’t do that!”

            He grabs my shoulder, coaxing, “Gerard, listen. This is to keep you safe, alright? Now, I don’t know what happened, but it obviously wasn’t good. I need to file a report on this, alright? It’s for your own good, and probably for some other boys’ as well. So, you don’t have to tell me who did it, but can you please tell me what it was? It’ll save us some time and help us prevent it from happening again.”

            “He raped me,” I croak out. “He and his friends, they took ahold of me, they held me down, and he raped me.”

            “Do you want me to take you to the nurse?” Donny suggests. “You don’t look so good.”

            I look down at myself, and realize that throughout this entire time I’ve been completely naked from the waist down. I haven’t even noticed in the panic of the situation. I grab my underwear, pulling them up, followed by my pants. Donny helps me to my feet, and it hurts to walk, but not enough to keep me from going to the principal’s office and filing an anonymous report of rape.


	8. Chapter 8

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

I’m sitting in class the next afternoon when I hear over the P.A.,

            “There has been an anonymous report of rape. Students, please stay safe; use the buddy system to protect yourselves. If you know any perpetrators, please tell the office immediately.”

            The class comes alive with buzzed chatter. I wish that the teacher would shut them up, but there’s a minute left until the bell rings, so she’ll just let the talk. I cup my hands over my ears until I see people get up, dismissing their conversations that were so intriguing and urgent just moments ago.

            I get back to my dorm, to see Frank and August hanging out, playing video games and sipping from the small amount of liquor they’ve managed to sneak into the school.

            Frank is playing upside down, his legs stretched across the lower bunk. “Gerard!” he calls. “Did you hear about the rape report?”

            Well, shit. There’s no avoiding it now. “Um, yeah.”

            “Isn’t that crazy?” August asks. “That also means that you two aren’t the only gay guys in this school.”

            “Au contraire,” Coulter begins. “A rapist’s motivation is not sex, but power. They seek to have someone be submissive before them, and only that. Therefore, a straight male could rape another straight male.”

            “I didn’t know this was a psychology lesson, sheesh,” August mutters.

            I fidget with my pockets, becoming uncomfortable with the conversation quickly.

            “Do you think that he like… just groped him, or full on butt fucked him?” August questions.

            Frank giggles at August’s blatant delivery, his eyes unconsciously flicking over to me. His smile drops, and he clears his throat, demanding, “Guys, shut up. You’re making Gerard uncomfortable.”

            I redden, and Coulter asks,

            “Why? What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing, I’m just… sensitive I guess,” I mumble.

            “We’ll stop,” August assures.

            “Gerard, can I talk to you privately?” Frank questions.

            “Uhh, yeah,” I reply. “Sure, whatever you want.”

            “Awesome. Coulter, play for me,” Frank orders, tossing his controller up to Coulter, who catches it with one hand and is in seconds absorbed fully into the game.

            I help Frank to his feet, and he drags me into the small side room. He sits up on the desk, and I stand awkwardly, my back to the wall.

            “What’s really bothering you?” Frank asks. “Did Matt do anything?”

            I stare down, and shake my head sullenly.

            “Are you sure?” Frank asks.

            I look up at him, unable to stop the tears from forming in my eyes. I shrug, and Frank sighs sadly. He outstretches his arms, telling softly,

            “Come here.”

            I walk into his hug, and he squeezes me tightly before kissing me on the cheek. “What was it this time?” He rubs my back with one hand and smooths my hair with the other.

            “I can’t tell you,” I choke out, tears making my voice tight.

            “You can tell me anything,” Frank insists. “You know that, right?”

            I nod, and let more tears cascade down my face. “But not this time. And it’s not your fault. It’s not even mine. I just can’t.”

            Frank begins to get frustrated. “Gerard, if you trusted me, then you’d tell me. You’ve always been so secretive, and I have to wring everything out and carry you along through everything, kicking and screaming. For once, can you just have  a little faith?!”

            “I have faith in you, Frank,” I assure steadily. “I just have none in Matt and his friends.”

            Frank begins to cry himself. He pushes me away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll fuck off.”

            “Frank, don’t be like that,” I plead quietly. “Honestly, this is nobody’s fault.”

            “Then why can’t you tell me what happened?!” Frank cries. “I’m your boyfriend, for Christ’s sakes! Or at least I used to be!”

            “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” I squeak.

            Frank shakes his head. “But if you’re going to keep hiding shit from me and ignoring my willingness to listen, then I’m going to have to.”

            “Frankie, I really can’t tell you. They made me promise not to,” I explain.

            “And you’re going to fuck over me just to keep a pink promise with some psychopaths?” Frank scoffs.

            “It’s not a fucking pinkie promise, it’s a threat!” I retort. “And I’m not the only one in danger.”

            “What do you mean?” Frank asks.

            “They threatened you, too. They threatened… they threatened to stab you,” I admit, starting to sob again. “And, if they, if I tell, and they take you away from me, then just what the fuck am I supposed to do with myself?”

            Frank gives another deep sigh. “Gerard, you can’t depend on a person this badly.”

            “I know but….” I dissolve into a mess of tears.

            Frank hugs me, pointing out, “You can tell me. How are they going to find out? C’mon, Gerard, like I’m going to tell anyone.”

            I sniffle, and murmur, “They…. Matt and his friends…” I gaze out the window, asking Frank, “Can you not look at me when I say this?”

            Frank is silent for a moment, but allows, “Sure, just let me turn around.” He puts his back to me obediently.

            I close my eyes, and my voice comes out pinched and pitchy as I confide, “His friends held me down, and Matt raped me.”

            I don’t hear anything, and I’m about to open my eyes when I feel Frank all around me. I hug him back and weep into his shoulder. He stands there for about fifteen minutes, rubbing my back and kissing my forehead as I bawl my eyes out.

            I rub my sore eyes, telling, “I don’t want to go back out there.”

            “We’ll just stay here for a while then,” Frank comforts. He hops up on the desk, patting the spot next to him. I jump up, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. He stares out at the room wistfully, absently dragging his fingers through my hair, gently smoothing out any tangles.

            I end up turning into a yawning, sleepy mess, and I must doze off, because next thing I know, Frank is carrying me to bed.

            He lays me down, tucking in the blanket precisely around me. He props my head up with the pillow and kisses my forehead.

            He looks at me dreamily, his hazel eyes shining. “You okay?”

            I nod. “I’m okay.”

            Frank considers this, biting his lip. His brows knit as he asks, “You’ll tell me if you’re not, right?”

            I giggle at his concern, and tell, “Of course, Frankie. I love you.”

            “I love you too,” Frank replies. He smiles at me, gives me another kiss, and then heads off to his own dorm. 


	9. Chapter 9

FRANK’S P.O.V.

I hardly sleep that night; I’m so pissed off. I lie there in bed, so utterly livid with the entire situation, yet completely helpless. I can’t take it back; I can’t change anything. There’s nothing to be done except suck it up and everything is awful.

Shit, if I can’t sleep, I can only imagine how Gerard is feeling. I wonder how he’s doing right now, although a big part of me knows it can’t be all that swell.

My attention drifts briefly to my sleeping roommate, Coulter. The bastard is out like a light, snoring and practically drooling on his pillow. Babies envy that level of slumber.

I slowly shift my weight so as not to wake him. My bed creaks loudly in protest as I sit up, planting my feet softly on the floor. I reach across to the nightstand for my phone, it’s glaring light telling me that it’s nearly three in the morning.

Man, alive. I roll my shoulders back, cracking my neck on either side before standing.  Gradually, I creep across the wooden floor to the door, stepping outside into the hall.

Damn, the school corridors look strange after dark. It feels almost like a campus reboot of 28 Days Later as I roam the empty halls to Gerard’s dorm.

Almost knocking out of instinct, I stop myself, not wanting to wake his roommate. August hardly gets sleep as it is; I’d hate to see how he’d function without a proper four hours.

I try the doorknob to see that it’s locked. Originally writing it off as Gerard’s general paranoia, I feel like the biggest asshole when I realize that he’s probably more scared than ever after being raped, for good reason, too.

An air conditioner kicks on particularly aggressively, sending chills up and down my body. After all, I’m just dressed in a freaking tank top and boxers, of course I’m freezing. I don’t think these things through.

I could text Gerard, I realize. He’s bound to be awake; I’ll shoot him a quick text to let me inside. Realizing that my phone’s not on my person, I head back to my own room, terrified when I try the knob to realize it’s locked. Shit, it must have locked behind me; my stupid ass didn’t bother to double check.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, I ask myself a troubling question: Who am I more afraid of, a sleep deprived August, or a half-awake Coulter? Figuring Coulter sleeps like a rock and I wouldn’t be able to wake him anyway, I put my money on August, which I’m still not thrilled about.

Tail tucked between my legs, I march myself to Gerard’s door and give a timid knock. Knocking a little more abrasively, I wait for someone to answer.

It’s August, much to my displeasure. His hair is ruffled to the extent of an umbrella bird and his eyes are narrow and glazed with sleep. He growls lowly, “What?”

Grinning sheepishly, I scratch behind my head. “Is Gerard awake?”

August shakes his head, telling coldly, “No.”

Well, shit, there goes my entire game plan. Quick, think of an excuse. “I got locked out of my dorm trying to go to the bathroom.” Nice Frank, nice! “Can I crash here till morning?”

“You’d rather wake up me than your roommate?”

Rats, he’s onto me. “Coulter is a heavy sleeper.”

August nods, considering this to be a fair answer. His eyes flicker downward and he smirks, scoffing, “Nice duds, Iero.”

Glancing down at my black tank top and too-small Avengers boxers, I blush a little. I had not taken the possibility of who would mock me more into account.

He lets me in nonetheless, ordering, “Wake me up again and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Love you too,” I respond jokingly. I crawl into bed with Gerard, who is sleeping soundly. My poor boy; he looks like he fell asleep crying. I cuddle up next to him, getting under the covers and leeching off his body heat. Hopefully, he’s not feeling so damn used in his dreams. There must be some sort of escape.

Waking up to the sound of his alarm, I open one eye, then the other, seeing Gerard already stumbling across the room to silence the damned thing. He looks like shit; he isn’t even walking right. I am going to find Matt Ellis and I am going to wring the rat’s throat.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

Gerard jumps a little at my voice, his eyes darting from me, to August (who is zoning in and out of sleep as he tries to wake up), back to me. “Fine.”

“No like,” I sigh, pressing, “Any… _pain,_ or anything?”

Gerard furrows his brows. “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Shut your trap,” Gerard scowls. “I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

I pout, pleading, “Gerard, I need to know. I want to talk about it.”

Gerard strips off his shirt, declaring, “I don’t.”

I swing my legs over the bed, striding towards Gerard, “You can’t bottle this stuff up, Gerard.”

He slams his shirt down, snapping, “Fine, alright! I am sore as shit and I have an awful headache. I have to take a shower but I’m too scared to and so I might just settle for the sink!” Seeing my crestfallen expression, his voice wavers as he retorts, “There, are you happy now?”

I take his hand, comforting, “I can go with you. To shower, I mean. With all the rules here, we can’t share a stall but… I can take one next to you, keep an eye on you a bit.” I pick up his drooping chin, asking, “Would you like that?”

“Why are you afraid to shower?” August asks sleepily.

Gerard’s eyes widen in panic. He looks as me desperately.

“There’s uh… bugs. Bugs in the shower, big spiders. Gerard’s afraid of spiders,” I lie. There was some truth to that.

August, still half asleep, agrees, “Ah.”

Gerard grabs me, whispering, “He’s going to find out!”

“Calm down; he won’t remember this,” I assure. “Look at him, he’s barely awake. Give it five minutes, he’ll forget this ever happened.”

That seems to calm Gerard down some, for he takes my hand and pushes me towards the door.

I put my brakes on, reasoning, “Look at me; I can’t go out like this.”

Gerard, looking me up and down, nods, offering, “Want something to wear?”

Dressed in a baggy pair of pajama pants and one of Gerard’s old t shirts, I head down the hallway to the joint bathroom of the floor, my boyfriend in tow. I enter slowly, of course doing an initial scan for any associates of Matt Ellis or the demon himself before entering.

Grateful that the room is mostly empty, I strip down next to a shower stall, hanging my clothes over a nearby bench along with a towel. Gerard does the same, only much more tentatively so. Everything he does seems to be in slow motion as he slumps towards the shower.

He always used to hum, even sing in the shower. But now he’s not, and it’s driving me mad hearing nothing but the sound of sprayed water slapping tile. Something’s not right with him, and I’m positive that the other day has everything to do with it.

We both get out and get dressed, Gerard more conservatively than ever. I head out alongside him, lacing my fingers with his as we reach my dorm. I can’t imagine what he’s going through; only try to make it easier.


	10. Chapter 10

FRANK’S P.O.V.

Gerard obviously isn’t like himself, and almost every one of our friends have caught on by the end of breakfast. Coulter, being the most direct out of any of us (to a fault), addresses this almost immediately, “Gerard, you seem awfully down in the dumps. What’s bothering you?”

Gerard glares up from his plate of food, which he has not touched at all. This is worrying in itself. It’s pancakes; he loves pancakes. “Fuck off.”

Everyone at our table, including myself, about choke on whatever food we were eating. I shoot Gerard a look, but his eyes are already cast down once more.

“Incredibly hostile there,” Coulter notices. “Pair that with your lack of appetite and downright disheveled appearance, and I’d say you’re suffering from a rather tangible mood disorder.”

Gerard is seething. Coulter rambles on, “But these symptoms appeared rather suddenly, almost by an outside stressor.”

“Coulter, shut up,” I hiss, kicking his shin underneath the table. God, this kid being an encyclopedia is not helpful at the moment.

“Outside stressors include but are not limited to: natural disasters, financial problems, struggles in school, relationship problems, physical, emotional, or sexual abuse-”

Gerard storms off, cursing under his breath, “Fuck this.” He’s gone before I can reach him, so I hurry to gather my things before chasing after him.

“Gerard!” I call, jogging to try to keep up. He takes a sharp corner into a sea of bodies and I lose him. Pulling out my phone, I text him, “Coulter didn’t mean it; it’s okay.” It’s not as good as talking to him, but it’s all I can do at the moment, and that in itself drives me crazy.

All I know is at that moment, I am dreading wrestling practice.

Later that day, I sit at lunch alone, again. No one has the sheer nerve to join me; especially not after I’ve been rumored to be some sort of whiny prick that ratted on Matt and his friends. The vast majority of the wrestling team hates me, which makes practice the only thing I dread more than lunch.

I’m sitting through what is an unbearable hour when Luke approaches me. Shit, I didn’t even know he shared a lunch hour with me. “Hey, Frank.”

“Hi,” I respond cautiously. I haven’t seen a whole lot of Luke in the past day or so, with the exception of wrestling, of course. Even then, he sort of hangs back in the crowd, a perfect fly on the wall. A guy like him knows all sorts of things, I figure.

“So, don’t mind me asking but…” Luke sighs, continuing, “What’s up with Gerard?”

I tense up. “Gerard?”

Luke nods, explaining, “I’m worried about him. One of my best friends told me…” Luke’s eyes dart from side to side before he whispers, “He told me about Gerard being raped and-”

“He _told_ you?!” I hiss.

“Calm down!” Luke insits. “He and I are the only ones that know; he only knows because he was the one who found him.”

“You don’t know who did it, right?” I check.

Luke shakes his head. “I wish; I’d like to bash the fucker’s skull in.” He’s quiet for a moment, then asking softly, “How’s Gerard?”

I shrug, confessing, “Really weird. Like super irritable and mopey and unhappy.”

“Can you blame him?”

I frown, agreeing, “I know, I know.”

“Do you know who did it?” Luke asks.

“I talked to Gerard about it, yeah,” I reply. “I’m not letting anyone know, though; the report was anonymous for a reason.”

Luke nods, informing, “Well, if you were ever to tell me and I would encounter said perpetrator, I will have you know I would destroy him.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” He bobs his head, so I inform, “He’s right under our noses.”

Wrestling practice is hell, as usual. While changing into my workout clothes with the other boys, I keep overhearing vague conversations about the rape report; it seems to be all that anyone’s on about. And Matt Ellis keeps smirking at me like that idiot knows something I don’t and I want to wipe the grin off of his fucking face.

But I can’t. He could absolutely destroy me; I would be no match for him. He knows it too; this only makes him cockier. Matt Ellis is an idiot, which is no problem, but he is an idiot who has convinced himself he’s a genius, which is a tremendous risk to everyone.

I’m bending over to tie my shoes, and he must feel extra confident about himself lately, either that or my blue underwear was sticking out an awful lot, because he comes up behind me and grabs a hold of it, nearly lifting me off of the ground by my waistband.

Jesus Christ almighty, I can’t believe I ever put Gerard through anything like this, previous bully or not. My face grows hot with humiliation as I regain my footing, pulling down the raised tail of my shirt and grasping for the back of my own underpants. “Fuck you!”

He just pulls harder, reasoning, “Never insult someone with a hand on your panties, Iero.”

I can hear laughter of surrounding boys swelling around me, and I duck my head as I’m positive multiple cameras are going. It’s bad enough that my ass and wedgie are going to be on their story; they don’t need a face to attach to it. “You are an asshole; I fucking hate you!”

“Matt, leave him alone!”

Shit, Luke. He’s storming up all angry, and Matt gives a final tug on my briefs before shoving me away. “What is it to you?”

I desperately work to stuff my stretched underwear back into my shorts, face still red. I watch as Luke approaches Matt, cursing, “You can’t treat people like that, you asshole!”

“Iero’s not a person; he’s a faggot,” Matt retorts. The other boys are watching, some still recording, and most making their round of aggravating “oooooohs.”

“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Luke spits.

Matt shoves him, hard, sending him sprawled back over a bench. Luke bangs his head pretty good on a locker, and a hand of his flies up to coax the throbbing. “You’re as bad as him, Luke.” With that, Matt’s gone, and so are his goons. I walk over, slowly so as to not further irritate my already aching ass, and help him to his feet, telling, “Thanks.”

Luke solemnly asks, “It was him, wasn’t it?”

I bite my lip, nodding. “Yeah.” I head off to practice with him, praying for Gerard again more than anything else.

 


	11. Chapter 11

GERARD’S P.O.V.

                I can only wonder how well Frank’s wrestling practice is going what with Matt being there and all. Hopefully he can keep his cool; Frank’s been known to be easily irritated, and I’d hate to see his cover blown due to his temper. Not only would Matt be aware that Frank knows he did it, but he would know that I must’ve told, meaning bad news for all parties involved.

                Not wanting to roam the halls in search of him, I shoot him a text message asking when he’ll be done. He doesn’t answer, typical. I dismiss that he must be busy with something; after all, he _Is_ at practice. I can only hope that he’s not in harm’s way as I wait for that response.

                My text finally comes some forty minutes later; he texts me: on my way to ur dorm now

                A knock sounds not much longer so I rise, unlocking series after series of recently utilized locks to budge open the door.

                Standing there is not Frank, at least, not my Frank. All hints of playfulness and joy are gone in his eyes; he just looks worn and sad. I sling an arm over each of his shoulders, pulling him over the threshold and closing the door with an outstretched foot. “Was practice okay?”

                Frank shrugs, not meeting my eye. It’s obvious he’s lying, from the tensing of his shoulders to the avoidance of an answer to the complete annihilation of eye contact. “Spit it out.”

                “Those guys are pricks,” Frank mutters. He exhales sharply, shaking his head slightly. “I’m going to quit; I have to. I can’t stand it.”

                “What’d they do?” I demand.

                “Matt was being an asshole, as usual. But that’s not so much what bothers me,” Frank confesses. He starts to break down slightly, confessing, “All the other guys just egg him on and laugh and don’t give a shit! They’re almost worse than him! Only one fucker has stood up for me and he got his face bashed in after practice for it!”

                Luke? My eyes quadruple in size. “Is that why you were late?”

                “Those guys are such terrible people, Gerard,” Frank whimpers. “I can’t do it anymore.”

                “You love wrestling,” I point out.

                “Yeah, but I love you more. And I care about you, and Luke, my friends, and myself more than anything else. I have to.” Frank pushes past me and sits on my bed, admitting sadly, “I will miss it, though.”

                I sit next to him, allowing him to rest his head on my shoulder. “Is Luke okay?”

                “He’s not too bad; they just got a couple good swings on him,” Frank confides. “I’m trying to talk him into quitting but he’s pretty set on finishing the season.”

                “This is so fucking ridiculous,” I growl.

                “Yeah,” Frank agrees. There’s a pause, a very brief moment of silence and lingering thoughts. Frank breaks off the mood by dragging a hand towards the lap of my pants; his nails searching and prying.

                “Get off,” I mumble, mostly out of annoyance.

                Frank withdraws his hand as though I had burned him. “What?”

                “Stop,” I snarl, burying my head into my hands. It’s not long after I do so that I feel a grasping hand over my jaw, followed by a soft kiss on my neck. “Frank; I’m not in the mood.”

                He doesn’t stop, just keeps kissing my neck all slow and slithering like. Again his hand snakes for my fly, and I snap, shoving him off. “FUCK OFF.”

                I push him harder than I thought I did; he reels way back and bangs his head pretty hard on the wall behind him. He looks at me, those amber eyes of his all sappy and hurt. He looks like he’s about to cry, and that makes me want to cry, and so off I go, dismissing, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

                Wiping my eyes on my way there, I head to the bathroom, which, for once, is empty.

                At least, I think it is at first. Not a moment after I start to relieve myself, I hear a footstep from inside a stall.

                I feel myself start to panic, but I try to reason that it could be anyone at all; there’s no reason for it to be Matt Ellis banging around in this bathroom.

                And that’s just why it has to be him; right? He’s standing there with the stall door open to meet my eyes. He is so smug. 

                Frantically finishing up, I rush to zip up my pants, which I manage to by the time he gets over there. Grabbing me by the back of my neck, he pins my head to the wall, growling lowly in my ear, “Tell your boyfriend and he’s going to get very hurt.”

                Tears start falling down my face. Shit, why can’t I control myself? He sees this and almost seems to chuckle under his breath. Reaching a massive hand around my waist, he fondles the front of my jeans, fumbling with the zipper. “I heard you’re big, Gerard. Frank told me.”

                “No, he didn’t,” I tell softly.

                He reaches a hand in the front of my jeans, then groping blindly for the opening in my underwear. He says in a singsong voice, “Found it!”

                I duck my head further into the wall; it’s all I can do. “Please, stop. Let me go.”

                Actually withdrawing his hand, I give a sigh of relief. That is, until his opposite one comes striking across my backside so hard I about scream. “Ass feeling sore?”

                He’s gone after that, leaving me there to stand numbly. Part of me feels as though it hasn’t happened, and the rest wants to forget it ever did. I trudge back to my dorm to see that Frank is no longer there; he left and went to his own.

                It’s all for the best. I’ll try to smooth things out with him in the morning; I don’t have the energy for it now. Besides, Frank is probably super pissed; he doesn’t want to see me. Lying in bed like some kind of festering cancer, I try to come up with ways to apologize.


	12. Chapter 12

                GERARD’S P.O.V.

                I can’t help but feel terrible over the whole thing with Frank all night. The more time that passes, the more it comes to mind, and the worse I feel. I don’t want to be this irritable, hostile person, but that’s what I’m turning into. After all that went down with Matt, I’m losing sight of who I used to be, and nothing is scarier than watching all you know leave you behind to the wolves.

                He doesn’t come back over to my dorm that night, and I don’t blame him. My goodnight text to him goes unanswered as well, which is also understandable. I can’t blame him for being mad, but I still wish he’d show me he still cares all the same.

                But no, that’s not Frank. When he’s mad, boy is he mad. He might have my back whether I know it or not, but he won’t show it openly, and he certainly wouldn’t say so.            I’m in no way surprised when he ignores my texts, but I’m more hurt than anything. Being ignored was something that worked to my advantage at times in my past school, but when it came to Frank, I didn’t want that. Being the center of his world wasn’t necessarily my goal either; no, it was just to know that I was wanted and I belonged. Without that validation, I began to question all sorts of things.

                I fall asleep eventually, crashing totally once I finally manage to do so. Waking up somewhat later than usual, I rush through my morning routine (clothes, teeth, backpack) and rush to the cafeteria, desperate to see Frank. I knew that if I left him alone for much longer, his anger would only get worse. There’s a narrow window of time where it’s best to talk to him, after he’s had time to cool down, and before he’s had time to think about it a ton. This time usually happens overnight, and now is my chance to try and fix this entire predicament.

                All but sprinting to our usual breakfast table, I am beyond relieved to see Frank sitting there. He’s very invested on whatever it is he’s eating, probably something of the vegan variety. This school has a lot more options than our previous one when it comes to Frank’s diet; he no longer has to live off the salad bar’s lettuce and occasional crackers.

                I stand behind him, purposefully blocking any exit he may try. Although he’s small, Frank is a cunning little bastard; he’s a Slytherin for obvious reasons. I put a hand on his shoulder, almost trying to pin him to his seat. “Frank, can I talk to you?”

                “I don’t know, _can_ you?” Frank grumbles.

                Rolling my eyes, I urge, “C’mon Frankie; it’s important.”

                Hearing him mumble something probably not nice under his breath, he stands up nonetheless, allowing me to lead him by the shoulder off to the side of the room. “Frank, I wanted to apologize.”

                “What, for going Streetfighter on me the other night?” Frank snaps.

                God, even when he’s pissed off he’s funny. “Frankie, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t annoyed with you, just pissed off about everything. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

                Frank won’t look at me, so I lace my fingers with his, promising, “It won’t happen again.” I bend slightly to plant a kiss on his cheek, and he finally smiles a bit. We have a moment of comfortable silence, which is interrupted by Frank mentioning, “I’m quitting wrestling today.”

                “I’ll be praying for you,” I tell.

                “Yeah, Matt will probably kill me, along with the coach,” Frank sighs. Clenching his hands around the straps of his bag, he informs, “I even wore underwear that won’t hurt as bad if Matt tries anything.”

                Giggling, I tease, “Lemme see them!” I reach around for Frank’s waistband, which makes him shove me, laughing, “Fuck off!”

                We arrive back at our table to see that hardly any of our friends are there. Coulter is gone, which isn’t all that unusual. He’s nearly late about twice a week, meaning that an almost periodical absence from our morning table is more of a guarantee than a regularity. August isn’t there either, which is odd, and what’s even stranger is that Luke is sitting in his spot. And boy, does he have something to say when Frank sits down.

                “Iero, if you quit, it’ll be bad,” Luke warns. “Matt will kick your ass.”

                Frank shrugs, popping a grape into his mouth. “He’s probably going to kick my ass either way. I might as well get it over with.”

                Luke glares at him, and his black eye almost seems to radiate the same hostility as he hisses, “It wasn’t fucking fun, alright?”

                Frank, guilty, murmurs, “I’m sorry you got hurt, Luke.”

                Luke sighs, admitting, “It’s not your fault.” He picks at his fingernails, telling exasperatedly, “What I’m trying to say is that you should be careful, Frank. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

                “The worst has happened, what else could go wrong?” Frank challenges.

                Luke looks at me, trying to reason, “Gerard, aren’t you worried for him?”

                “Of course I am,” I confess. “But quitting is his choice and I’m going to support him, no matter what the consequences are.”

                Luke shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” He stands, brushing the crumbs from his lap as he dismisses, “It’s your ass, Iero. If you want it torn to pieces, that’s on you. Do me a favor and cover your skull when he tries to bash it in.”

                Frank groans once he leaves, complaining, “God, that guy used to be such a blast. Throw this in the mix and he’s quite the downer.”

                “He has a point, you know,” I say. “You know that getting a little roughed up is the best case scenario.”

                Frank shrugs, telling, “I’ve been beat to shit before, Gerard. I’m not scared.”

                “And that’s not right,” I argue. “You shouldn’t be used to being kicked around and treated like shit.”

                “It’s whatever,” Frank mumbles. “I am what I am, Gerard. I can’t change that.”

                I reach for his hand under the table, grasping it gently. It’s not about what I want for him, but it’s what he knows he can take. I don’t like it, but I’m just going to have to take a leap of faith and trust Frank on this one.


	13. Chapter 13

FRANK’S P.O.V.

                All day there’s a building apprehension in my gut. I begin to develop quite the share of nervous ticks; I can’t count the number of times a classmate points out that I’m blinking a ton or bouncing my leg. But no matter how many times anyone points it out, I go back to it. I can’t help it; I’ll stop when they first mention it, but before I know it, I catch myself doing it again. These only make me feel more anxious, and my stomach is in tight knots in absolutely no time.

                Lunch is never a good time for me; it never has been. Even when I used to torment Gerard for sitting alone, part of what would make me go over and bother him in the first place was that I also had no one to sit with. These lunch time nerves; Gerard knows the same feeling, the racing heartbeat, the clammy hands, trembling knees. It used to be an issue of eating alone, but now it’s turned into a mess of what’s about to happen next. Knowing that Matt is in my lunch wave is absolutely no help.

                Luke ends up sitting with me; he’s been doing that more and more lately. It used to be somewhat of a sporadic thing; I’d see him from time to time, but never as often as I’d like. I always wondered what made this so irregular; maybe he had things to attend to. Either that, or he didn’t want to entirely jeopardize his image, so he tried to keep our luncheons to a minimum.

                He must not care as much as he used to. He sits across from me, sighing heavily as he eases into the seat. God, I hope he doesn’t try and talk about this morning. If one word comes out of his mouth, I’ll scream.

                “Sorry about this morning, Frank,” he apologizes.

                My voice is too sore to let out the howl that’s storming inside of me. I don’t want to play dumb; that’ll piss him off. I also don’t want to rub it in; that’ll piss him off even more. I go neutral, nodding, “It’s okay, man. A lot of shit is going on right now, for everyone.”

                I gaze up at him, noticing a bruise has formed over one of his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

                He shrugs, admitting, “Kind of shitty. Worn out, irritated, you know.”

                “Your eye, I meant.”

                Again, he shrugs. “It doesn’t really hurt unless I touch it.” We eat in silence for a moment, but it doesn’t last. “Are you still set on quitting?”

                “Yeah. I can’t take another damn day of practice,” I confess. “I’d rather make an idiot of myself once than try to endure it for the entirety of the season, which has hardly even started.”

                Luke shakes his head, murmuring, “I really don’t want to see you hurt.”

                “Not really much you can do about that,” I reason. “I mean, I never wanted Gerard to be hurt but…” I drop my fork and it clatters much louder than I thought it would, startling Luke into looking up at me. “Here we are.”

                “About that, did you see him and Matt the other day?” Luke asks.

                I shake my head, furrowing my brows. “No, what are you talking about?”

                “I just overheard August say that he saw Matt leave the bathroom, shortly followed by a very upset looking Gerard. I thought Gerard would have told you.”

                “He didn’t,” I growl. I catch Luke flinching, already wishing he wouldn’t have said anything. “Thanks for telling me, I mean. I just wish he’d talk to me, but things have been real ugly ever since… you know.”

                “Yeah, I understand,” Luke mutters. Desperate to change the subject, he asks, “So, when are you quitting again? Beginning or end of practice?”

                I scoff, “Beginning, duh. Why would I ever put myself through another hour and a half of that hell?”

                “Good luck, man,” Luke wishes. “I have your back.”

                I reach underneath the table and knock on the wood twice; I’m going to need all the luck I can get.

                When the time for practice finally arrives, I find Luke and walk with him, waiting in the gym while he precedes to the locker room with the other boys.

                I see Matt stride up, and I flinch unconsciously, which gets a rise out of him. “Scared, Iero?”

                My muscles turn to stone as he grips the back of my neck, whispering in my ear, “Word on the street is that you’re going to quit. Is that true?”

                With difficulty, I swallow, managing, “Yeah.”

                His hand, grasping and hot as it slides down the back of my pants, tries to steer its way around my hips and towards my crotch. “You’re not about to tell on me, are you, little girl?”

                I shove myself away, yelping, “Get _off_ of me!” His eyes turn to ice, so I stumble over myself stammering, “I’m n-not telling on you, just quitting.”

                “Good,” Matt scowls. He grabs a chunk of my hair, yanking my face close to his as he spits, “Keep it that way, you little bitch.” He releases me roughly, then making his way for the locker room, probably to go talk about me behind my back.

                Once the coach arrives in the empty gym, I tell him everything. Well, not _everything_ , because that would get my ass kicked. No, I mostly make up a lot of shit about wanting to focus on my studies and not having the time for wrestling in my schedule. He looks pretty disappointed, and I do feel genuinely bad for about a moment before I remind myself of my actual reasoning. The truth is, I can’t stand these kids and the things they do. Luke is as good as ever, but Matt is a boy of hate and malice, and I will distance myself from him at all costs.

                He lets me go, seeming somewhat sad as he dismisses me for what is the final time. I trudge back to not my own dorm, but Gerard’s, knowing that a heartfelt discussion is long overdue.


	14. Chapter 14

GERARD’S P.O.V.

 

Anxiety has been eating at me almost as long as it's been tearing through Frank. Frank didn't have to say he was stressed; I just knew. These kind of things grow obvious the more I get to know Frank, and just when I’m convinced I know everything about him, he surprises me, proving me wrong once again.

  
This is one of those days where the nerves seem to radiate off of him. Whenever Frank’s stressed, it freaks me out as well. I can’t relax knowing that he’s distressed, and I like to think that it’s the same way for him when I’m wigging out. Then again, I can only hope; Frank has never been one to share his feelings.

I can only imagine how quitting wrestling is going for him right about now. Luke sure seemed concerned; should I be?

I must look really freaked out, either that or really high, because August notices my expression from his bed and calls, “Hey, uh, you alright man?”

I nod slowly, blinking furiously to try to snap myself out of this. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just nervous.”

Scrunching his nose in confusion, August asks, “Nervous? What about?”

I shrug, confessing, “Frankie’s quitting wrestling today.”

“That’s good, right?”

Again, I lift and drop my shoulders lazily, explaining, “It’s a good thing, yeah, but not if Matt or any of the other boys give him hell for it.” I shake my head, murmuring, “I don’t like to see him hurting.”

“Then maybe it’s best he quits,” August reassures. “Besides, I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be here any moment now.”

I know August is doing his best to make me feel better, but I never like to take gambles on these kinds of things. I want to ask him how he can possibly know that’s true. I don’t like taking leaps of faith; I always miss and end up in some kind of awful disappointed slump. Emotional investment in what isn’t guaranteed is never worth it, and it never has been, with the sole exception being my relationship with Frank. It’s a relationship that never should have been, and here it is going a year strong.

Still, I’m not having a ton of confidence in August’s misguided sentiment. I’m about to challenge him when a knock comes at the door. Warily, I stand, not wanting to open it to a bloodied Frank. I push the thing open with my foot to see Frank standing there, perfectly fine, just a little worn and sad looking. That’s how he always looks these days; it’s nothing new, unfortunately.

“Hey,” he mutters. He forces a cheesy smile, informing, “I quit and I didn’t even get my ass kicked.”

“How’d it go?” I ask, letting him pass me to come inside. I close the door behind him and grab his hand, following him over to the bed.

He sighs, confessing, “I haven’t really faced the guys yet, thank God for that. Just the coach, who seemed a little disappointed but it’s whatever.”

I lean forward on the mattress, resting my chin against curled fists. “It’s not right that you’re the one having to give something up.”

Frank scoffs, admitting, “With the way those guys were, I’d say there’s no loss there.” He’s quiet for a bit, and then he chuckles softly, mentioning, “I haven’t seen you wear tighty whities since, like, _freshman year._ ”

I giggle myself, turning the slightest bit red as I pull the tail of my shirt down just a bit. “I haven’t worn them since then, not since I got teased about it.” I lay back, confessing, “But, no one’s going to be seeing these bad boys anyways. I don’t have gym class this semester, so no changing issues there, and I haven’t really been expecting to get laid recently.”

Frank frowns, asking, “Why wouldn’t you get laid?”

I pick at my fingernails, confiding, “Well ever since…” I glance over to August, who is currently fully engrossed in peeling away some adhesive residue left on his wall, before dropping my voice, “you know… I haven’t really wanted to. I haven’t felt like it.”

I’m worried Frank will be upset. After all, I’m his boyfriend, and here I am making him undergo this oath of celibacy out of nowhere. It’s not the fact that I’m saying no this time, but it’s the fact that I’ll be saying no for a while. Surely, he’ll see this as a reflection on himself. After all, how can I truly love him if I refuse to be intimate in the way we’ve always been?

But he doesn’t seem angry at all, not even ticked. As great as Frank is in veiling his emotions, the one that comes through clear and simple is anger. That and jealousy. If he’s angry, you’ll usually hear him say something about it, whereas if he’s jealous, it’s just written all over that sweet face of his. There’s neither of those things, no, not this time. He just looks totally neutral, laying back there on my bed, the sun streaming from the window to his eyes. He finally speaks up, comforting, “And that’s okay. You take whatever time you need.” He eventually sits up, leaning forward a bit to peck me on the cheek, ordering, “But the minute you start to feel shitty, you promise you’ll talk to me?”

I nod, knowing that I can keep this promise. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” he says, seeming satisfied with our agreement. He lays back down, asking, “What do we do now?”

I shrug, suggesting lightly, “Cuddle?”

With that, Frank takes my hand, pulling me against his chest. He laces my fingers with his, snuggling up next to me in the warmth of the sunbeam, coming mellow and gentle through the window. He ends up falling asleep there, and I think that’s just fine, because these nights have been something awful, and, as always, when things are truly terrible, it’s nice to have someone like Frank around to make it suck a little less.


	15. Chapter 15

FRANK’S P.O.V.

As soon as August leaves, the nagging question that has been eating me for hours comes to the surface. What happened between Matt and Gerard in that bathroom? That matter is first and foremost in my mind, no doubt. Second to that is the manner in which I'm going to ask him. I've got to be careful, that's for sure. He's been somewhat of a walking time bomb for the past week or so; I can never tell what will set him off. This topic is touchy enough in itself, but pair it with his irritability lately and it's bound to tick him off. Gerard's never been so distressed for so long, but it's always been him against the world; he can't have me fighting him as well.

 

So I come off as a lover with the concern of an old friend. Starting the conversation is the hardest; we've been laying in the light for some time now, not speaking, just enjoying the presence of one another. “August left.” I'm trying to play it casual; I don't want this to feel like an attack. Gerard limply bobs his head, agreeing, “Yep.”

 

“I have something to ask you.” I guess I'm taking the direct route.

 

“Shoot,” Gerard orders. He has somewhat of a warm distance in his eyes. He looks so damn lukewarm that I'm praying for the possibility that I don't get much of a reaction out of him.

 

“Luke told me he saw you leave a bathroom after Matt the other night,” I begin. “Anything to on in there? Something you might want to talk about?”

 

Gerard starts to bite on his bottom lip, confessing, “I saw him in there, yeah. Not a whole lot went on.”

 

“You sure?” I pry. I'm not meaning to; boy do I hate it when people pry. But in this case, I have to; it's for Gerard's interest, not my own inner gossip. “He said you looked pretty upset.”

 

“Luke didn't even see me; I talked to August,” Gerard insists. “How would he know?”

 

My brows furrow as I ask, “Wait, you _talked_  to him?”

 

Gerard nods, sharing, “He wouldn't let me past; I kind of had to.”

 

“I never even knew you talked to him,” I inform. “I thought he just saw you.”

 

Gerard shakes his head, and I realize that either August lied to Luke or Luke lied to me, although I'm putting my money on the latter. “What did he say?”

 

Gerard shrugs, telling, “Nothing, really. Mostly wanted to make sure I was okay.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me?” I demand. “It seems like information is being spread all around in our circle, but none of it is reaching me, at least not correctly.”

 

“I don't know,” Gerard mutters. “It was embarrassing. It was bad enough that August had a clue; I figured I better keep it to myself unless I want it on the school newspaper.”

 

I hold his hand, giving it a small squeeze as I asked, “What did he even do?”

 

Gerard won't meet my eye as he mumbles, “He just groped me; it's nothing. No big deal.”

 

I sigh, hugging him. “The things I would do to that asshole.”

 

“If he wasn't able to destroy you,” Gerard adds. “Not to mention, he's the kind of asshole who's threats are actually a possibly.” He shudders, whimpering, “It's hard to sleep sometimes knowing he wants to kill me. At least, enough so that he could threaten me with it.”

 

I kiss him on the cheek, promising, “I wouldn't ever let anything happen to you.”

 

August returns, and I have half a mind to ask him about all of this bathroom business. If he lied to me, I'll be sure to find out about it, and he will not be happy.

 

But then I glance over at Gerard and see those tired, smogged eyes of his and I can't bear the thought of it. No, I won't confront anyone. I'll keep it to myself just this one time, for him. It's the least I can do.

 

“You guys hear from Luke?” August asks.

 

I shake my head, replying, “I know I didn't.”

 

“Cmon, it's almost supper,” August prompts, grabbing his meal pass from his desk. He nudged me lightly with the stiff plastic of the card, urging, “Let’s go; we’ll see him there.”

 

I hear Gerard murmur softly, hardly a sound, “I sure hope so.” Great, I'm not the only one worried for Luke; the whole room is at unease.

 

Thankfully we do see him at dinner, and his eye looks a little less swelled and angry than it had earlier. He must have iced it, I figure.

 

Although he may be relatively fine physically, boy does he have a lot to say about practice. “Coach caught on something about those guys being pricks to you, Iero. He made us all run.”

 

“Sorry,” I apologize. “Why didn't you speak up, say you had nothing to do with it?”

 

Luke scoffs and shakes his head, muttering, “You don't get it, do you?”

 

Somewhat offended, I open my mouth to give him my two cents worth, but I'm interrupted by one of the wrestling guys approaching our table. He's a kid I've hardly seen, let alone spoken to, and he glares at me and cusses, “Fuck you, Iero. You're just a pussy; you're nothing.”

 

He's gone as quickly as he'd came, but his words still prick in my temples and soak in my stomach like a clump of glue.

 

Gerard looks over at me, assuring, “That guy’s such an asshole; don't pay him any mind.”

 

I nod, the wad of hurt in my gut rising up my throat. Shit, I'm going to cry.

 

“Frank, are you okay?” August says.

  
That's the last thing I hear before I lose it, pushing out of there fast, through crowds of kids gone from laughter to snickering and whispering. Tears start to run as I make my way through them, pushing and striving for an escape. I don’t wait up for Gerard or anyone else; those things are farthest from my mind. No, I run straight to my dorm and lock the door the moment I get inside.


	16. Chapter 16

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

            I look from August to Luke, desperate for some sort of explanation. Surely it wasn’t just what that one boy had said that set Frank off; he’s heard worse, I’ve heard worse, we’ve all heard worse. But yet, something about that moved him to tears, and not the soft gentle roll down your cheek and drop off your chin kind, but the bubbling, streaming hot kind. I must be missing something.

            “Context?” I demand.

            August shrugs and Luke ducks his head, telling, “I think I ticked him off.”

            “Yeah, what was all that about?” August asks.

            “Frank doesn’t understand that when I stand up for him, I put my ass on the line,” Luke insists. “He appreciates, but he doesn’t empathize. He thinks that it’s so easy for me to get out of running.” He exhales as he picks at his fingernails, adding, “Not to mention, if I had said I had nothing to do with it, it’s not like anyone on the team would back me up. If anything, I’d run more.”

            “I’m kind of worried,” I confess. “I mean, that kid seemed pretty mad and even you’re annoyed, Luke. Do you think anyone’s gonna hurt Frankie?”

            Luke lifts and raises his shoulders, admitting, “I’d be lying if I said it was out of the question.”

            I pout, mumbling, “I should really go catch up with him, make sure everything’s alright.”

            “You do that,” August tells, patting me on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

            I nod, heading out the same way Frank had gone. I figure he’s gone to his dorm, so of course that’s the first place I head to. I knock on his door to no answer, then clear my throat, calling, “Frank, it’s me. I know you’re in there.”

            The door opens, slowly at first, then wide. He’s standing there, this drooping, slouched heap of boy. Looking remarkably frail, he wipes his nose on his sleeve, trying to hold back the tears still building in his eyes.

            I allow myself inside, closing the door behind myself. I wrap my arms around him, rubbing his back as I ask, “Was it what the boy said?”

            Frank shakes his head as he weeps, choking out, “No.”

            “What was it then?” I ask. I have a hand threading in his hair now. His locks are soft and damp in my hand.

            “Everything,” he cries. “Just you and me and Luke and everything. Nobody is happy and everything sucks.”

            I frown sadly. “That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, huh?”

            He nods gradually, up, center, down, center. Reeling back from where he’d been buried in my shoulder moments ago, he looks me in the eyes, smiling slightly. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

            I nod, deciding, “Me too.”

            He finally breaks the hug, walking over to his bunk and lying back.

            “Are we heading back to supper or what?” I question.

            “Can we just… not go?” Frank pleads. “I don’t want anyone to make fun of me. Besides, I’m not very hungry. I kind of lost my appetite, to be honest.”

            “Sure,” I agree. “I can stand to miss a meal.”

            “Can we relax?” Frank begs. “I can get Netflix going. I need to take some mental health recuperation time.”

            “Don’t you have a test tomorrow?” I remind.

            “Damn Algebra to hell; I’m hurting and that’s first and foremost in my mind,” Frank insists. With that, he inches over closer to the wall, grabbing the remote off the nightstand as he clears a spot for me to lie next to him.

            I do so obediently, my back curving to his stomach like a mold. He sighs contently in my ear, seeming to have calmed down some from his… let’s call it an episode. Still, his breathing is somewhat irregular, and I’m positive his eyes are still stained red. They’ll stay that way for some time; he’s never been a quick recovering crier. I guess I’ve gotten so used to lying about my mood that I’ve learned how to make that post-crying look end as quickly as possible. It’s saved my ass a time or two, and I’m sure it will continue to serve its purpose down the road.

            I know that he’s chosen Jackass before the episode even starts. When Frank is upset, he wants nothing more than to watch a bunch of guys do dangerous, stupid things and possibly get very injured. It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but when the world is his least favorite, it helps a lot.

            And that’s saying something. Frank gets like that when he’s not happy; he blows up, and he’ll talk about it, and then he wants nothing to do with any of it. He’s always been that way. As soon as it’s off his chest, he seems like a different person almost. If only the talking part came before these little breakdowns that he is nailed by every so often.

            But maybe all that stuff doesn’t matter so much. Maybe it’s good for him, good for _us,_ to have these moments. These are what suck most, but they’re also what build us, I decide. No matter how awful and gloomy it may be, these are the things that remind us that the other really does care. Sure, I wish Frank wasn’t reduced to tears whenever possible, but if that means that I am there to coax him through it, then maybe it isn’t all bad. Because for every minute Frank spends crying, we spend about twice as long recovering together. Even if that just means cuddling in bed and watching a bunch of grown men play with bulls, maybe that’s what we need from time to time. As bleak as these times may seem, perhaps life would be worse off without them.

            Sneaking a glance back at him, I see he’s about to fall asleep. I just grab his arm and tighten it around my waist, wanting nothing more than for him to remember, even if it’s just for a couple hours or so, that I love him with all my heart, more than I’ll ever admit, and much more than he’ll ever know.


	17. Chapter 17

            FRANK’S P.O.V.

            When I wake up in the morning I am _starved._ I shouldn’t have lied to Gerard about not being hungry the night before; the only reason I said that was because I couldn’t stand to go back there after having made such an idiot out of myself moments before. I’m not sure how many people saw me run out of there, but it was probably too many to count. Call it adolescent egocentrism or whatever you want, but I’ve reached a conclusion that more people are watching than you think; having taken a dance class with wall length mirrors as a child taught me that.

            Why was I in dance class, you ask? Agility, of course. That and I liked the tap shoes because they made lots of noise. That’s not the point though; the point is that I’m going to be teased mercilessly today about having cried in the cafeteria earlier, and I am not looking forward to it at all.  

            Although I stuff my face that morning at breakfast, Gerard again skips out on the meal, opting instead to sit there with tired eyes and drooping limbs. I decide to sit next to him, cuddling up against him a bit as I eat. It’s not a lot, sure, this affection is but a small gesture, but it’s one of the things I do to try and lessen the burden. After all, that’s the least I could do; I am his boyfriend.

            His mood does improve slightly during my presence, and for that I’m glad. Gerard’s spent too much of his life being unhappy to revert back into these patterns. I start chatting with him, eventually confessing to him, as well as the table of friends (August, Luke, Coulter, and West), “I’m kinda worried about today; the wrestling kids haven’t been super grateful.”

            “It’ll be fine, Frank,” Luke assures. I can’t tell if he’s being honest or if he’s just saying that. “The kid from yesterday? He’s just a soreass; everyone else is over it.”

            I look to the others to see if Luke is completely bullshitting me, but they all bob their heads in unanimous agreement, so either he’s telling the truth, or they’re in on this whole scheme as well.

            “Keep me updated,” Gerard orders, making texting motions with his fingers. “If anything happens let me know, alright?”

            My thoughts flash to Matt that other day, how he’d grabbed me in the gym. Although he hadn’t carried through with his motive, he’d come considerably close. If something like that were to happen to Gerard, I would want to know about it. “Sure thing.”

            So why do I keep it from Gerard? I don’t know, maybe I’m trying to block out that entire day from my memory, thus avoiding any rehearsing of events is crucial. Or perhaps it’s just too embarrassing to mention. Or maybe, just maybe, Gerard already has this seemingly unsurmountable scourge, plaguing his air and hanging over his head like a black cloud. He hasn’t been the same ever since Matt took advantage of him, of _my_ Gerard. While he’ll undoubtedly return to his old self in good time, Matt is still to blame for these miserable months of skipping breakfasts and not showering alone and triple checking locks and general shitiness. There’s nothing more I want than to be able to take it back. Since I know I can’t do that, a large part of me is aching for a revenge so divine that Gerard is replenished with the dead pieces of Matt Ellis and each and every accomplice.

            But I’m used to settling and that’s what I do with each and every passing moment. Submission is a choice, but in high school, passivity is almost a requirement. You do what you can to keep your nose clean, and when the inevitable shit hits the roaring fan, you give up all of that and just pack it up and move the fuck on, no matter how bad it hurts, no matter how wrong it is, because that’s what high school is all about, right? It’s not prospering, just surviving.

            Surviving is exactly what today is; scraping by with the bare minimum not because I chose to, but because this is all I can muster. It seems like a merely surviving day for everyone; no one seems to care enough to bother me. Part of me is thankful that, but another just wishes they’d make up their minds and get it over with. If I’m going to get teased or punched or spit at, it might as well be today. If they aren’t feeling up to it they’ll only delay, and I don’t need these things fucking haunting me to the grave because some lazy assholes took a raincheck.

            Gerard texts me before lunch, even. He must be really convinced that I was in for it today. It reads, “Everything going okay?”

            I sneak my phone from my pocket, tucking my chin down as I type, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Haven’t had any problems.”

            This is the truth; not a single person has given me the slightest hassle, unless you count the vocal teacher inadvertently bumping into me in the restroom and apologizing afterwards. This stays the truth, too; all day I don’t have any air quote “experiences” to share with Gerard because I haven’t been so unfortunately graced with one. I’m glad, Gerard’s glad, everyone is in rejoice. It’s not until the peaking hours of the day that I run into the slightest problem at all, but the problem is not so slight. Almost as if that encounter with the vocal teacher was a precursor, it is not three moments into my next bathroom break after class that I find myself surrounded by Matt Ellis and his goons in a matter of seconds. My eyes go from person to person, face to face, and then to the door, which one of those apes blocks with his fucking broad shoulders alone. Trapped, just like Gerard had been, I try to settle my kicking stomach and wait for one of those jackasses to take the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Please comment and leave a kudos behind if you enjoyed it! Feel free to check out my other work as well while I'm updating, which should be soon!
> 
> Tumblr: teenbrendon Twitter: jediuire


	18. Chapter 18

FRANK’S P.O.V.

                My heart has never beat faster than in those moments in that bathroom. I was sure my life could end at their discretion, and I was unwilling to give it. Unfortunately, there is five of them and just one of me, so I’m not really in the position to be calling the shots. Beggars can’t be choosers, but I still hope they only paralyze me from the waist down.

                “Hey, fag,” Matt greets, knives in his voice. He advances toward me, informing maliciously, “I’ve heard stuff… you know, what goes around comes around.” He gets in my face, hissing, “I take it someone’s let the cat out of the bag.”

                All I can do is stand there and try to play dumb while fighting the urge to wince at the rancid stench of his breath. I shrug, lying, “What are you talking-”

                I feel that I was formulating a great lie, but he just has to go and shove me, cutting me off midsentence. I was always a great actor, but all those years in theater don’t help me when I spiral backwards at an alarming speed. It should be totally fine; I’ve fallen before and I’ll fall again, wipe the dirt off and move on. If only that damned urinal wasn’t in the way.

                I crack my skull on the butt of the thing pretty hard, enough so that I immediately become disoriented. I don’t feel pain so much as I do a throbbing, a sort of pounding tremor beneath my hair that is pulling at the back of my head. Settling slowly to the floor, I reach a hand up to the area out of instinct, not pain, but the pain comes when I retrieve my hand at the feel of warm blood.

                That’s when I start to yell, when I feel the pain surging through my skull like some kind of hot driving iron through the bone. I crumple to a fetal position, gripping madly at the back of my head in a desperate attempt to somehow ease the debilitating pain. Kicking my feet on the floor, I continue with my moans and groans.

                I don’t see or hear much in those moments and the amount of time I spent on that floor is unknown, but I know that when I try to regain my footing, there is but one person there. It’s not Matt, or even one of his main accomplices; just a quiet figure in the background, probably a nice enough kid easily swayed by the wrong influence. He’s kneeling next to me, his brown eyes wide and jaw agape. “Are you okay?”

                Deciding that one more groan is sufficient enough, as the pain subsides, I murmur, “Y-yeah, I’m fine.” I slowly gather myself to a sitting position, mumbling, “You know, concussion or whatever but it’s cool.”

                “Gosh, do you need help back to your dorm? I can walk with you,” he offers.

                “You know what, pardon my manners, but eat my ass,” I growl.

                His face assumes the expression of a baby falling victim to object permanence foolery. “Y-your ass?”

                I roll my eyes, snarling, “It’s an insult, ass munch.” I try to stand, immediately falling back onto the floor. He reaches a hand for me, which I swat away, cursing, “Fuck off.”

                “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, seemingly irritated. Honestly, I’m surprised he isn’t furious; Lord knows so many others would be. However, I’m not grateful for his patience; he’s still part of the reason I’m lying on this cruddy bathroom floor, unable to stand even. I bark, “Gee, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you and your asshole friends incapacitated me.”

                He frowned, offering, “Can I at least walk you back to your dorm?” I look at him with nothing but hatred in my eyes and a rock in my gut. He hastily adds, “I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with those guys anymore.”

                “Don’t know why you ever did,” I grumble, this time allowing him to help me to my feet. I start to walk, almost limping from the pure heaviness of my head- for lack of a better word. I feel as though I’m about to give at any moment; the floor seems to be an almost certain ally. He rights me when I falter and steadies my pace, keeping me bumbling slowly down the hallway in somewhat of a zigzag pattern. It’s not his fault; my head is hazy and my feet aren’t about to cooperate either.

                Instead of giving the directions to my door, I have him lead me to Gerard’s. Despite our quiet, but meaningful nonetheless, walk home, I still don’t trust the kid and I’m not about to let him lead me from an empty hallway into an empty dorm. Coulter has been all around lately; I hardly see him these days. But the nice thing about Gerard is that he’s as static as he is handsome; he’s almost fixed to the comfort of his bed no matter what he’s doing.

                I’m grateful that he’s there when we arrive; but then again, it’s Gerard, when is he _not_ there? He answers the door with first a smile, but after seeing the boy with me, his amiable grin turns into a look of blunt fear and apprehension.

                “It’s cool,” I assure, somewhat quietly. I’m still not entirely sure everything’s peachy, so it’s not ideal that this kid know anything about Gerard being afraid of him. I stumble into Gerard’s arms, who helps transport me from the threshold to his bed. His eyes double when he observes my state, and he presses, “What happened?”

                I’m trying to find the words to respond when another voice fills in the silence. “Frank got his bell rung,” the boy answers solemnly. “Might want a concussion screening.”

                “How’d he get his bell rung?” Gerard demands. “Because based on prior events, I’m going to have to guess it wasn’t an accident.”

                “Matt Ellis and… others,” the boy answers carefully.

                “And you found him?” Gerard questions.

                He replies earnestly, “I was there.”

                More silence, the only audible sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning. Gerard shakes his head and scoffs, growling, “Get out of here.”

                The kid nods, muttering, “I figured as much. Feel better, Frank.”

                “Fucking leave,” Gerard repeats, more hostility in his voice now.

                “I’m Jared, by the way,” the boy informs. With that and a swing of the door, he’s gone, just as quickly as he’d came.

                “He didn’t hurt you Frank, did he?” Gerard demands.

                I shake my head, answering honestly, “Matt was the only one. The rest of those cowards followed him out.”

                “You should go to the nurse,” Gerard advises. “The concussion screening isn’t a bad idea.”

                Groggy, I murmur, “Uh-hum.” Gerard helps me to my feet, and before I even reach the office I know that the diagnosis will be a concussion.


	19. Chapter 19

            GERARD’S P.O.V.

            Frank ends up with a concussion and I am livid. While Matt Ellis and his friends are the people that scare me more than anything, they’ve always been the people that enrage me to no end. Hurting Frank is just icing on the shit cake that is my affairs with his little clique.

            Going back to my dorm steaming, Frank’s arm linked with mine, I automatically begin to pace once we reach my room, murmuring foul things under my breath. Frank lies back on my bed, this groggy haze in his eyes. “Gerard, please relax.”

            About to respond that I’m calm already, I notice my hands shaking. That’s when I know I’m just the opposite; I’m on the brink of totally losing my shit. So I do my best to lay next to Frank; he’s always been a good medicine.

            “You know anything about concussions?” Frank asks, his voice dragging like molasses.

            I shake my head briskly, admitting, “Not a lot, no.”

            “Ever hear that myth about falling asleep with one and going into a coma?” Frank continues.

            “No.”

            Frank grins, telling, “Well, I haven’t heard any proof against it, and I’m not wanting to doze off and wake up in a hospital ten years from now with a beard.”

            Does his delusional concussion-scummed mind think this makes any sense? “And?”

            Frank grabs my wrist, pulling me over the top of him in a straddle. “You’re going to have to keep me up all night, Gerard.”

            The sultry tone of his voice, like honey, is enough to make me start to go hard. “Oh?”

            Frank nods, and I kneel over him, dipping down to kiss him gently. As the kiss proceeds, I get more and more aggressive, our mouths gaping and greedy and reaching. I’m all over him and he’s so under me; we seem to intertwine in those moments. He slides his hands down the back of my pants, then slipping those gripping fingers underneath the waistband of my underpants.

            I moan into his mouth the slightest bit as he squeezes my ass, not allowing his busy hands to stop his pulsating lips. Feeling his lips smirk against mine, I murmur something that gets lost in translation, and by translation, I mean his tongue.

            Frank breaks the kiss momentarily, asking, “Come again?”

            Blushing slightly, I confess, “Just wanted to say that I’m into that a lot, that’s all.”

            Frank’s smile swells as he presses his lips back to mine, his hands grasping at my ass all over again. His hands slip around my hips and to the front of my pants where he fumbles with my button and fly. He manages to undo both, then starting to wiggle the pants down my legs. He grazes his fingernails against my inner thigh, thumbing the leg to my grey briefs.

            “I like when you wear briefs,” Frank confesses. “They make you look really big.”

            Reddening the slightest bit, I start to work on Frank’s pants, shuffling them down his thighs to reveal his boxers. I shift over slightly to bring down his underwear as well before standing, telling, “I’m going to grab a condom.”

            “Put a sock on the door handle,” Frank orders. “I don’t want to scar August for life.”

            “Good idea,” I agree, opening the door a crack to loop a sock over the handle before closing it again, locking it behind me just in case. “I doubt he has a key with him.” I make it over to my dresser, fishing a condom from my underwear drawer along with some lubricant. Tearing open the wrapper with my teeth, I roll the condom on over myself and begin to lube up as I stride back over to the bed. I hoist Frank over onto his stomach, propping him up with some pillows as I line up behind him. Reaching around his waist to grasp him, I work the shaft of his cock as I slip into him.

            He grunts, then moans, purring, “Shit, Gerard. You’re so good at this.”

            “I’ve had plenty of practice,” I joke, grabbing the back of his hair and bringing his head back a tad. I press some biting kisses into his neck, prompting him to say, “No hickies, please. Last time you went all Nosferatu on my ass. Literally, on my ass.”

            I chuckle, replying, “No promises; I’m not the best with controlling these.”

            Frank groans, sighing, “Hello, high-collared shirts.”

            I roll my eyes, rocking back and forth with him. “I love you, Frank.” I kiss him at the base of his spine, making him shiver slightly beneath my touch.

            “I love you, too.”

            There’s only so much that both of us can take, and he’s the first to give, letting out a shuddering, quivering orgasm that precedes mine. We lay after, spooning slightly. I’m naked whereas he has his underwear on; the material of his boxers is thin and soft against me. Reaching around to grip the front of his waistband, I inform, “That was good.”

            Frank nods vehemently. “It’s been a while.”

            “Too long.”

            We lay there for some twenty minutes longer before finally getting up to go to supper. We fix each other’s hair and Frank puts on a hoodie to try and hide the bruises forming on his neck. As he reaches for the door, I spank his ass, chirping, “Cute butt.”

            He puts a hand over one cheek, whimpering, “Why me?”

            Grabbing his wrist and pinning it against the back of the door, I pout and mock, “Poor baby.”

            Frank looks up at me dotingly with his green eyes, lashes fluttering almost. He looks so perfect in that moment, so much so that I wish I could call him beautiful without others applying it to girls only. I kiss him once, then twice, then a final time for luck before heading out to supper finally, but not without retrieving the sock that had been looped over the doorknob, a symbol to one and to all that Gerard Way is back in the saddle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon.
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


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